


let's just lollygag around; hope and dream for bigger things

by sipsjin



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sipsjin/pseuds/sipsjin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything about them is so loud, so out in the open, but it is the moments of subtlety that enamor Sjin the most. [Gen. world Sjips.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's just lollygag around; hope and dream for bigger things

**i.** _He is the boy in the loincloth and he is the lumberjack._

They are truly, mortifyingly terrible at sticking together.

“Sjin,  _Sjin_! Where are you?” There’s the sound of a constant pitter-pattering, the soles of his shoes against cobblestone, and Sips’s voice jumps back and forth through dark crevices. The cave system at Camelot is a lot bigger than they have expected, and becoming distracted (much too often, it seems) was already a huge part of them. “Sjin!”

"Sips!" Sjin tries to bellow back, but his voice is too small, not used to yelling or screaming, that it cracks mid-syllable. He is pacing the unfamiliar caverns, feet scarred from the small pebbles and cracks, blisters forming from stubbing his toes against uneven cobble, and he only has —  _one, two, three, four_  — four torches left on his person.  There is a moment of pure silence, no Sips calling his voice with increasing volume, no more signs of running, and he decides to accept the idea that he’s just going to have to die here — and on his very first spelunking mission too!

A hand envelopes his left shoulder, and instinct pushes Sjin to grip onto his blade (he is inexplicably weak, and the blame is on him for not bringing enough food with him from Deep Space 9, his hunger treading towards starvation), except he’s warm _hothothot_  to the touch of the hand, and it was much too lively to be anything else.

"Where the hell were you, you big bastard?"

The words come out in a small growl, and Sips is out of breath, something of relief tinged with a little bit of anger (he never gets seriously angry with Sjin, ever, and he takes that to heart) spotting his features. Sjin gives a sheepishly guilty smile, and Sips doesn't need an answer because one look at Sjin tells him everything,  _‘_ _I just wandered off and got a little bit lost is all, Sips, I swear. Heh.’_

Only Sips isn't laughing and his gaze is solely on his scratched feet. There’s a frown playing at his mouth when he bends down, murmuring a, “Why aren't you wearing those leather boots you put in the chest back there?”

Sjin doesn't smile this time because he has no excuse and lets Sips sigh and patch what he can of his wounds with leftover scraps of leather in his pack. (He lets him mother him and chide him, and Sjin might be just a teensy bit weird when he thinks he likes it.)

It is when their eyes are level with each other’s, with Sjin positioned on the cold stone floor and Sips kneeling over to tend to his foot, that Sjin sees the undisguised caring and utter relief weaved throughout Sips’s expression. He stares for quite some time, looks becoming distant and lost, that Sips has to wave his hand in front of his face after he is done, “Sjin? Think you can walk?”

Sjin scoffs at his obvious answer, he’s too prideful to let Sips White Knight him all day, “It’s just a couple of blisters, Sipsy, I’m sure I’ll live to tell the tale.” However, he has to bite back his own words when he has to grip onto Sips’s hand to steady himself up, and Sjin holds in his hiss as soon as his cut feet are weighed down.

“Just a couple of blisters, huh?” Sips smirks in reply, and he takes the initiative, grasping Sjin’s arm and slinging it around his shoulder.  His right hand is covering Sjin’s and his left arm wraps itself around his waist until they are fit together snug. “Don’t worry, you son of a bitch. I gotcha.”

Sjin is leaning down against Sips, and it is kind of awkward due to the height difference in that Sjin has to hunch and fold his body inwards, and Sips more or less drags him through the caves. He mumbles under his breath, “What an asshole. I can’t believe I was actually worried.”

"Worried, eh?" Sjin teases, catching onto the whole vibe quickly and Sips shoots him a glare. Sjin thinks it might have been right now that he has unconditionally fallen in love with him; but there was no sudden change of emotion, no sudden ‘oh my god, I’m actually in love with my best friend, aren't I’ revelation, none leading him to seeing Sips in a whole new light like all of the romantic comedies he has seen. He even waits a little, expecting some sort of epiphany, but there is none.

Sjin still sees of him as his best friend, and Sips is still Sips.

All the while, maybe he already was.

.

It is only five minutes and seventeen seconds later (Sjin counts the time by beating his hand against the cobblestone, and he racks up 317 seconds) that Sips had said he would be right back after getting a few more ores when Sips gets lost himself.

_They are truly, mortifyingly terrible at sticking together._

**ii.** _He is the architect and he is an aspiring CEO of a soon-to-be million dollar corporation. (At least he swears he will be.)_

"So, uh, whatd’ya think, Sips?" Sjin whistles faintly, softening the crinkles of the floor plan with his index and middle fingers as he looks with anticipation at Sips’s expression.

The pencil marking is smudged and some of his handwriting has changed from the neat, cursive penmanship to something resembling Lalna’s chicken scratch when he is up late at night and has too much inspiration to reach for his desk side lamp before he starts scrawling things down. Sips’s fingers are lazily tangled around Sjin’s and his thumb is drawing circles into his skin; it feels the same as Sjin remembers it, rough and calloused from the hard labor of his past profession, except maybe just a bit colder. He guesses it must be because of all the paperwork and business meetings or whatever the hell CEO’s get themselves up to, and he squeezes his hand.

It has been a while — he’s under exaggerating, really, it must've been years ago when they rescued Guy from the Beavfather’s Mansion and parted ways — since he announced to his best friend that he had gotten a freelance job in architecture, something he’s been pining for ever since he’s ended up in Minecraftia, but his inspiration for this project was Sips himself.

They promised, at least Sjin thinks it was a promise even though Sips was a little hard heavy on the sarcastic drip of humor when they talked about it, mindlessly conversing in bed one night after placing them in Fort Beaverend.  _(_ _"If you ever become an architect, Sjinny boy, I’ll become a multi-billionaire CEO for sure." "CEO for what? A lumber-jacking depot? I doubt it. At least I have a real chance!" "…dirt. I’ll become rich off’a dirt! Put a squeeze of lime on some mineral precious dirt and I’m rich!" … "You’ll build my factory for me, right?" "Sure, pal. I’d do anything for you, y’know.")_

The silence is almost too much for Sjin, and he just wants to jolt Sips by his shoulder and yell at him to answer already, but Sips is one step ahead of him — just like always — and he beams up at him, “Jesus Christ, Sjin! This is fantastic! I mean, I thought my floor plan was fantastic, well, actually my entire floor plan was just trying to steal the girl-guide factory out of their sight and placing it right here, but I wasn't sure how well that was going to work out.” Sips chuckles a little to himself, and the sparkle in his eye as he continues is something Sjin has missed, “Are you sure you've been working as an independent architect? Haven’t stolen these plans from someone, at all?”

Sjin likes it when Sips praises him the most. It’s like wanting someone they admire to say something about them — anything about them, just almost — and Sjin forgot how dependent he was on Sips. “Nah, it’s all mine, baby. You were there when Ridge invited everyone to that game, right, with the big castles and the crowns and all? Yeah, I built that.” He crosses his arms smugly as Sips mouths a ‘wow’ and takes another look at his factory plan.

The next few words that spill out of Sips’s mouth surprise Sjin the most, “You should stay here and help me with the factory, Sjin.” He notices this and his face scrunches up at the look at Sjin’s face, quickly adding, “I’ll pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. You can build all the buildings for me and I can just supervise, yeah? I could really use a full time architect… and assistant.”

The shock on his face morphs into one of some sort of acceptance and the more than obvious plead for Sjin to come and stay with him because he was lonely makes Sjin smirk. “S’long as you change the name of your dirt company to Sjipsco., think that’s fine, boss?”

His hand is teasing when it travels up to grasp the collars of Sips’s plaid button down, still crisp from the recent laundry, and Sips makes a gurgling noise. The grin playing on Sjin’s face is much too delightful at the reaction as he loosens his grip on his shirt. But before his arm can fully swing back to his side, Sips reaches out to grab it back, taking Sjin along. There are obscenities flowing out of Sips’s mouth before he closes their lips together, and there is no muffled confusion from Sjin’s side. (He knew it was bound to happen sometime during their reunion.)

It’s not the most romantic thing in the world — he has to dip his body downwards and lean across the table and his chapped lips are a little ways off of Sips’s — and it’s nowhere near their first (they've messed around a lot in their past years to the point where he supposes they never really had one they could classify as a ‘first kiss’) but Sjin takes what he could get. They were apart for far too long.

Sips snorts into the kiss and Sjin pulls away, albeit reluctantly, “As if I would. What kind of dumb couple name is Sjips anyway?”

 **iii.** _They are the new helpers of the rival company and he is missing._

Eight days.

He has been ‘missing’ for eight days. Sjin thinks of it like that because, for the most time he has been missing, he was never really gone. He knew the way back to Sipsco Headquarters like the back of his hand, and even the way towards the Jaffa Cake Factory was simple as long as he could make it back home.

Even after those wolves were nasty and ripped at his suit and took all of his belongings, he always assumed that finding his way back to Sips was the easy part.

But as his head leans against the big computer panel he’s set up weeks before, eyeing the production of his mining turtles as they whirl away at the earth, he wonders why he hasn't yet. His fingers reach up to play with the wiring of the system, to see if the weather affected anything and make sure everything is still intact — (he hasn’t been here for weeks, who knows what Lalna or Xephos might’ve done after he’s just left this small base here) — and his loincloth feels a little uncomfortable and the untrimmed grass is tickling at his feet and legs. There is a small gust of wind when he pulls his arms back to his sides. Sjin’s nose is red and stuffy and his eyes are almost frozen shut but he doesn’t feel cold despite being disturbingly unclothed. What should he do now?

He wants to know whether or not this is who he wants to be. An architect? Was that really it?

The computer screen still reads ‘Initiate extreme harvest dirt protocol’ and he just can’t get the stupid program to work. He was never really into computers; that was Sips’s regime. (Somehow everything about him always traced back to Sips. SipsSipsSips.)

Or was his destiny really just to be Sips’s lackey for the rest of his life?

**.**

The eighth night is when he walks back towards the Jaffa Cake Factory, panting slightly (he has taken laps around the whole of the factory to make it seem as though he has been trying to find his way here all this time) and his voice is slightly wavering. Sjin is a good actor, exceptionally good, and a part of him thinks they should have really named it Sjinco. and had him play the convincing bossy CEO instead of Sips, but he keeps this to himself. They fall for everything he says, even though some of the facts weren't necessarily true.

Xephos calls for Lalna to get him some clothes — QUICK, the dwarf adds urgently — and he responds by blushing red at his own attire and turning away, only for Honeydew to shriek for the scientist even louder. Soon, he is wearing a slightly huge, faded green tee with a rocket ship adorning its center and some sweats that Sjin swears smell like they haven’t been washed in ages, and he is pushed into the extra work shed with some iron gear to rest.

He’s rested enough for today, so he just lays in the bed that is coated with many layers of dust (he’s brushed away what he could, but the dust has gotten in his eye to the point where he has to wipe at his watering eyes) and waits for Sips.

**.**

The position of the moon out of sight of the window tells Sjin that it is almost midnight when Sips shuffles his way into the shed, tugging off his iron boots in the process and his eyes are half lidded with sleep. There is an air of surprise on his face when he notices Sjin facing the window with the covers of the bed grasped loosely in his hands, lips closed into a firm line, “Sjin, you’re back.”

Sjin’s focus is now wrapped around Sips and he acts as if he weren't just hanging around for the past six days or so — the wolves could only take him so far, and he noticed the lack of Honeydinc workers chasing him from behind much, much earlier. “Sips. Hey. Heard you’re workin’ for the other side now, huh?” The smile on Sjin’s face feels awkward and forced, and he’s scared that Sips might be able to tell the difference. (When he doesn't, however, Sjin feels a bit unnerved). “Told ya that labor is a breath of fresh air every once in a while.”

Sips clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and it is more of an offhand statement when he says, lugging his helmet and chest plate off in tow, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He stops talking after that and it makes Sjin twitch in his spot and his leg is shaking noticeably against the foundations of the bed. The underlying question of “you were gone for eight days, where have you been, Sjin?” wrecks Sjin’s mind even more than if Sips had been how he was in front of everyone else, if he had told him outright, if Sips had been more angry and shouted and threw dirt in his eyes and then yelled at him again for making him waste dirt, but that is all he says about the subject.

"I’ve been… around," it is getting considerably harder for Sjin to lie, but that is because Sips is in front of him now; he is left to drink all of him in and everything about Sips is too intoxicating — more than Lalna’s homemade rum could ever make him — and he beings to feel queasy as he clears his throat, "they — the Honeydinc. guys were, uh, chasing after me after I did the daily scan ‘round the perimeter like you asked me to, boss… and I booked it and ended up hanging out with my wolf brethren for a week, almost."

Sjin dances around his own words and Sips’s eyes are in a direct line with his, and he hates how much emotion he can see in Sips’s — when was the last time Sips had anything to hide from him? — and how much he has to hold back.

It is then when Sjin notices that he is the inhabitant of the only bed of the room, and he flushes a faint red as he searches for a half-assed excuse for anything (the mere idea of sleeping next to Sips again was intimate after spending a few days sleeping by himself in his mining base). The excuses, 'I have really bad gas' and 'I'll probably knock you off the bed, Sips,’ cross his mind, but he ends up saying, rather lamely, “I’ll go, uh, ask Xephos for another bed.”

"It’s not like we’ve never slept with each other before," the spring of the mattress is creaky and loud, the leggings come off next, and Sips is looking pointedly at Sjin when he gestures to the door that connects both of the sheds with his thumb, "And who knows what those bozos are doing at this hour — planning Sipsco.’s doomsday probably."

"Yeah, definitely. They have a game board with painted chess pieces and everything." There isn't a skipped beat and it almost feels as though he hasn't been reflecting on all of his life choices in possibly one of the most depressing sob story-esque ways. (He makes a checklist in his head; ran away, check; thinking back on his past actions, check; back pressed forlornly against a wall, check… all he needs now is some sappy, bittersweet music in the background and his entire life is really just a film). Sjin smiles, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. He will forgot, just for this moment.

"God, yeah. Plus, if they ever accuse us of anythin’, we could just ask ‘em why they didn’t give us an extra bed anyway." Sips quips before waggling his eyebrows at Sjin and advancing towards him. Sjin’s back is almost pressed against the bed covers and the corner of Sips’s lips are twitching upwards when he whispers, "unless they wanted us to put on a show for them, I mean, jeez, would you be down for that, Sjin?"

Sjin grins at Sips, a giggle escaping from his mouth as he pushes him back upright. “I’m game if you’re game.”

The joking dies down again, and Sips sits up from the bed, this time to blow away the torches to get ready to sleep. Sjin whines in protest. “Don’t!” He hisses, “You know I hate sleeping with the lights out. What if a creeper spawns and we die in our sleep?”

Sips freezes in spot before catching himself and laughing, turning his back against the wall. His grey skin is illuminated by torchlight and Sjin thinks that it looks pretty. “Right. I forgot you’re still a wuss about that. Now everyone’s going to know that you sleep with a nightlight.”

"Shut it."

**.**

The bed is the only place Sjin dominates (just face-first with Sips, really, because he had the CEO of Sipsco. wrapped around his finger and then some, and he’s sure Sips hadn't found out who was behind the whole head conspiracy yet) when Sips finally lets his initial tough nature diminish and they’re just  _SipsandSjin_. They are face to face, Sips’s eyes are closed and his knees are tucked up to his chest as much as he can with the space Sjin leaves for him, and Sjin tugs him close to keep them from falling off.

Sips is mumbling, body tired from constructing the walls of the Jaffa Factory, and his hand is tightening around Sjin’s arm, “Sjin… talk to me. I haven’t heard your dumb high-pitched voice in a week.”

He scoffs, “I take offense to that, actually.”

"No one gives a shit."

Everything is still and quiet when Sjin finally pipes up, voice wavering, ”I saw it Sips, I’m super sure I saw it.”

"Saw what?" Sips’s response is a little less than curious, but he still proposes the question anyway.

"It was out there, when I was being chased by those wolves and all," There’s a hint of amusement laced underneath his seriousness, and Sjin pauses for a moment to feel Sips’s heartbeat against his. "There was a lot of land, a lot of it, Sips, more than we could ever own. And you could probably buy a metric shitton of land, so that’s how much it is. It looked so nice and the air was fresh and it smelt like grass everywhere. I know you’re allergic to grass, but it was pretty swish. Could you just imagine that? A vast open landscape, untouched by science or magic. That could be a new beginning."

He lowers his voice to a hushed whisper when he realizes he’s just rambling, “That could be my new beginning, you know. I want to get out of here. There’s something out there I need to see, Sips. A whole other world and all, I mean… you’d understand, wouldn’t you?”

At this point, Sips is fast asleep, and there is a frown tugging at Sjin’s face but he just plants a kiss to his cheek (Sips squirms a little and pulls away from Sjin’s face, and he knows for a fact it’s the beard he hasn't tamed for more than a week now) and wraps his arms tighter around him.

**.**

When Xephos walks into their room the next morning to wake them up for the usual morning schedule run-downs, his pinks dust a faint pink when he sees the two spooning in Sjin’s small bed and he whispers a hasty excuse before seeing himself back into their own shed.

 **iv.** _He is the farmer and he is leaving._

"I’m leaving." The words are quick on his tongue and his heart is beating at a hazardous hundred and thirty eight beats per second the second he enters Sips’s penthouse office. He is dressed in an all too large white-stained-yellow shirt and jean overalls, and his normal boots were replaced by galoshes. His body is swinging back and forth, back and forth, and he is awaiting Sips’s reaction.

He has waited months for this moment; he wanted to cherish everything Sips could offer him — (staying with Sips was nice, it was a good thing, they were best buds and there was nothing out there that Sips couldn't top) — but he just can’t take it anymore. Sips is everything Sjin lacks and it bothers him, everything about it bothers him. Sips is rude, demanding, abrasive, and probably the biggest bully everyone in Minecraftia could name, but his role was easily identified. He knows who he is, and everyone else knows who he is — the CEO of Sipsco.; the antagonist of the Jaffa Cake Factory; the guy everyone tries to avoid but ends up being endearing anyway.

He has a purpose in this world, but what does Sjin have?

There is something of fear in Sips’s eyes and his fingers are drumming against his desk (it’s a habit when he’s nervous, and Sjin knows this because if it’s one thing about Sips, concealing his emotions didn't come easy) but as soon as Sjin notices it, it is replaced by smiles and happiness, no sort of reluctance as he is about to possibly walk out of his life again.

For a moment, Sjin is relieved Sips didn't question his decision or throw a tantrum or forced him to stay, but the second that he steps foot out the compound with his backpack slung over his shoulder — it is full with basic building materials like wooden planks and cobble, along with his old spacesuit in case he ever has an opportunity where he has to wear it again (he wonders if that would be anytime soon) — there is a dull pang of heaviness surfacing in his chest.

Sjin doesn't look back. (No. Not even once. He for sure doesn't see Sips rushing towards the front of the office complex as if he forgot he had something else to say, nor did he hear the distant calling of his name. Even if he did, the memory is long burred over.)

**.**

To his surprise, Sips keeps his promise of sending him letters about the progress of the factory while he’s away just so that when he comes back he’ll be up to date. Most of the time it’s short, three sentence letters that are straight to the point, delivered by one of Lomadia’s owls.

He names it Hedwig and the thought of messing with Sips’s intolerance of Harry Potter  _references_  crosses his mind once.

The one letter that catches Sjin’s eye was sent more recently, buried between the newsletters and informational handouts. It is slightly longer than all of the other letters; his block handwriting remained the same and the ink didn't dry well enough and stuck to some of his magazines.

_sjin,_

_dirt factory’s doing fine. i removed all the sand and working on replacing all the pipes. i think we i might as well just remove the sorting facility, anyway. i forgot the password to the factory. i had to smash open one of the windows at the top but don’t worry i replaced that too. do you remember the password? if you do, pls send a reply. ~~actually, it’d be better if you came to visit sometime so i can show you all the cool shizzlewizzle i've been up to.~~_

_p.s. come back. i miss you—r company. bring the cabbage soup you always make._

_p.p.s. did you take all the wood and cobblestone you son of a gun??? ever since ridge confiscated our cheat machine i had to get them manually. you owe me_

_—sips_

There are scribbles and frantic scrawling out of some phrases, but Sjin thinks that if Sips really cared whether or not he could see it, he would have rewritten it. (Then again, Sips never tried to do more than he needed to do.)

There is a distinct, familiar warmth flooding his body as Sjin slips a clean piece of paper out from his desk side drawer and begins to write out a reply. He’ll come back one day, he supposes.

 **v.** _Due to some luck of fate, he is the assistant again and he is his best friend._

Sjin is nervous, even more begrudgingly nervous than when Sips had sent him to play tricks on the girl-guide factory trio by himself all those months ago. More nervous than when he had taken Teep captive from the Blackrock base as a form of revenge against Rythian — revenge against what, he still isn't sure, but Lalna had convinced him that he was his next target, so he had to do something, right? — more nervous than when he had to leave Sips.

Coming back was always the hardest.

Nanosounds gets Sips to visit them first at his farm. They don’t need over exaggerated hugs or exclamations, or even that kiss Sips has promised him long, long ago — for forgiveness of some sorts for blaming something on him — because the looks are enough. They've always been enough.

For as complex as they were, rivaling a supernova with clashing personalities and horoscopes and the combined whispering rumors of everything that echoed Sips and Sjin could never stay together for so long, too long, their fire would die out at first touch,  _they were incredibly simple_.

"Sjin, are you, uh, are you back for good?"

The nostalgia is all set in the moment he walked back into the Sipsco compound, the moment that he walked back into Sips’s life. He is ready. He swallows back the inching shakiness that tries to consume his body whole, and he thinks that if Nanosounds wasn't still floating somewhere in the air after being blown up, she would be giving him signals and thumbs up for him to continue.

"I suppose, yeah."

He almost doesn't catch the smile that Sips sends his way at that and it makes his heart flutter in ways he hasn't felt since he left, and he is much too eager to be back. It was always the subtle things that Sjin liked the most.


End file.
